Rain

As I look upon the mystifying rain,
listening to each droplet,
it runs to another,
races like desperate children fleeing conflict.

Yet isn't suffering more like a desert -
torrid, arid, deathly?
Or this - a swarming grey sky of storming clouds
streaming steadily?

The tentative tinkling
of trickling rain
fall
causes me to shudder;
a chill runs down my spinal
column.

Oh solemn rainy road,
you overcome me
like grief.
Oh rain.

For My Craft

For my craft
I exercise late into the slumbering night,
when even the moon has left
and the corridors echo
with shadows and whispers
of ambitious souls;
I labour by a single light.

I'm not here for praise or recognition.
It is an unrequited love
or expedition;
I'll do it all again tomorrow
but for a rare smile,
the opening of a blossoming bud
whose seeds were sown
or scattered about my field.

For in the morning aurora
and the cry of the cockerel
call me to my craft.